


Hold my hand and I’ll buy you coffee?

by pennyroads



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Copious Amounts of Fluff, F/M, Fake Dating, coffee shop meet cutes, rated C for Corny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 03:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20650790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyroads/pseuds/pennyroads
Summary: Fake Dating prompts: “Hold my hand and I’ll buy you coffee?” and “One date to meet the family. Would you really say no to free food?” + an epilogue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bringing these over from Tumblr for safekeeping, with an added epilogue. 
> 
> I have a Fluff degree from the University of Tropes. Thus —

It was a hot chocolate kind of morning. Extra dollop of whipped cream and a generous sprinkling of sugared cocoa on top, for good measure. Betty sighed in anticipation as the queue moved forward and she was one step closer to getting her much needed sugar fix.

The coffee shop was busy for a Sunday morning.

Most customers didn’t bother coming in until the mid-morning sun had warmed the pavement and the city was bustling with the brunch rush, but the dreary summer rain had forced the early risers to seek cover and an extra helping of caffeine.

She counted how many people there were standing between her the counter (_six_), scrolled absentmindedly through her Instagram feed, thumbing the like button on random photos of pets (_three_), carefully lit selfies (_nine_), and uninspired inspirational quotes (_twelve_).

The queue moved again (_five_).

She didn’t notice him until a pair of black boots came to stand in front of her. Her downcast eyes traveled up until they met those of a stranger. Dark hair, sharp features, an ambivalent smile. _Oh_.

She blinked. “Yes?”

“This is going to sound really odd, and I apologize, but I really need to ask for a favor.”

He kept his voice purposely low and she had to strain to hear him. Her body unconsciously moved closer to his.

His motorcycle jacket was faded from use, more dark gray than black and fraying at the sleeves. Betty wondered it felt as soft and it looked.

He looked around discreetly before reaching for something in his back pocket. It was a police badge. _Detective Jones_.

“What can I do for you, detective?”

His posture hinted at a need for covertness that made Betty drop the tone of her voice to match his.

“I’ll buy you a coffee if you hold my hand?” He phrased it as a question, smile turning sheepish as he pocketed his badge and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m on a job. Undercover. There’s a suspect coming into this coffee shop in about 5 minutes and I need to blend in,” he explained. “Please?”

Betty, law-abiding citizen that she was, was more than happy to help. The fact that detective Jones was handsome and had a certain air of mystery about him had nothing to do with it and she was prepared to swear by it in a court of law.

“Sure,” she agreed, holding out her hand, much to detective Jones’ noticeable relief. “But just so you know, I’m not skimping on my order.”

His hand engulfed hers, fingers wrapping tightly, but not uncomfortably, around her own. His palm was cool and slightly callused.

“Do your worst, Miss—?”

“Cooper. Betty.”

“Well, Miss Cooper Betty, I believe your noble service entitles you to the most elaborate, sugary drink in this joint.”

He squinted his eyes at the blackboard hanging on the wall above the counter.

“How about a… _triple chocolate caramel mocha_, or in layman’s terms, diabetes in a cup?”

Betty laughed, which pleased him. He had a way of showing emotion through his eyes, while keeping his overall expression reserved. It intrigued her.

“I’d rather keep my teeth cavity-free. A regular hot chocolate will do.”

He nodded. There was an ease to this simple back and forth that unwound some of the tension in Betty’s shoulders. He squeezed her hand almost imperceptibly.

Betty was about to ask him what his drink of choice was when a faraway look settled over his face. His body tended and he cocked his head to the side as if he were listening to a parallel conversation. _An ear piece_. Betty scanned the area to ensure that no one was paying them any undue attention.

“Copy,” he muttered, masking it with fake yawn.

“I’m sorry, there’s been a change of plans.”

The look he gave her was apologetic and Betty felt the sharp bite of disappointment somewhere in her chest. They had reached the front of the queue and a bored looking barista was waiting to take their order.

“Whatever the lady wants, keep the change.” He handed over a ten dollar bill. To Betty, he said, “the suspect is going somewhere else.”

“Oh,” Betty nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

Detective Jones frowned. “You were great, I’m sorry I hijacked your morning.”

“Happy to help.”

“I have to go,” he smiled, unmoving.

“Go,” she smiled, holding on to his hand.

Someone shouted instructions into his ear piece and they broke apart. Betty squeezed her empty hand, trying to retain some of the warmth.

His feet carried him backwards away from her.

(_One_.)

(_Two_.)

(_Three steps_.)

“Don’t go getting into trouble, Miss Cooper, or I’ll have to arrest you sometime.”

Betty smirked. “Is that a promise?”

He laughed. It delighted her.

“Oh, you can bet on it.”

Finally, Detective Jones turned and pulled out the beanie he had poking out of his pocket, shoving it down to cover his ears. _Such a good look_. It softened the overall harshness of the all-black ensemble and made him look younger.

He turned back around just before reaching the front door.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Betty nodded. Wiggled her fingers. Smiled.

“I might even let you hold my hand for free.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was a coffee — black, no sugar, as hot as you can make it — kind of morning. Tired, cranky and over half an hour late to a department meeting, Jughead side-eyed every person who held up the line by ordering a fancy beverage. Anything over two words was a personal offense.

The coffee shop was abuzz with customers coming and going, typical for morning rush hour. Jughead ignored the chatter and kept his eyes firmly on the front of the line. He wondered how unprofessional it would be to flash his police badge and tell people his coffee run was an emergency.

When it finally got to his turn, he smiled politely at the harried barista, ordered a sensible drink and removed the wallet from his back pocket to pay the necessary amount.

“_I’ll get it_,” a familiar voice interrupted.

Betty Cooper, the woman he had met at that same coffee shop weeks ago, materialized at his side. Like magic, his mood improved tenfold.

She paid for his drink and offered him a coy smile. Her features were very striking. He remembered her clearly: high cheekbones, inquisitive eyes, delicately shaped lips. A face you were unlikely to forget, once you’d seen it.

“For last time,” she said.

“You weren’t there.”

The words were out before his brain had the chance to catch up. He looked down, embarrassed, and took the opportunity to move away from the counter, towards a quieter spot in the corner.

Betty followed. “I know,” she replied. “I wasn’t able to be here the next day. I wondered ...”

“I was here,” he confessed. “Thought I’d been stood up by a pretty blonde. I even bought a frilly drink to nurse my wounded heart.”

It was her turn to look away. The top of her cheeks ever so slightly blushed.

“I’m so sorry, I—”

“_Betty_?” Jughead looked away from Betty to see a woman walking towards them, high heels clicking on the linoleum floor. She was tall, blonde, elegant and expensively dressed. Her dedication to pastel colors both frightened and impressed Jughead, whose entire wardrobe palette consisted of a variation of greys and blacks.

“_Mom_!”

“I thought I saw you coming in. What are you doing here?” The woman seemed to notice Jughead then, and the thorough once-over she gave him was polite but not altogether approving.

“We were just grabbing some coffee before work,” Betty explained.

Betty’s mother turned her attention to him. “I’m sorry, Betty didn’t mention that she had a new gentleman friend. You are…”

“Jughead Jones.” She shook his hand with a firm grip. Even though Jughead dealt with intimidating criminals every day on the job, he still found himself squirming under Mrs Cooper’s appraising gaze.

“Delighted to meet you, Jug..._head_, is it? I’m Alice Cooper, Betty’s mother.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

The look she gave them was inscrutable. She pursed her lips and ran a hand over her perfectly smooth hair.

“Anyway, I better dash. Polly’s at her dress fitting and she says the seamstress has made an absolute mess of things.”

“Betty, I expect you to bring your new friend to lunch on Saturday. Twelve o’clock.”

To Jughead she added, “Please be punctual”, before blowing past them like an expensive smelling hurricane.

“Wow.” Jughead turned to look at a bewildered Betty.

“No offense, but your mom is _a lot_.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“Also, we’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said. “Or we’ll be fake married before I get the chance to ask you out on a real date.”

“Well, what do you say? To Saturday, I mean. She’ll never get off my case if I don’t show up with you now. And please remember that you kinda owe me one for last time?”

Jughead guffawed. “Betty Cooper, that’s borderline blackmail! Don’t forget that I'm a law officer. I could have you taken in, you know.” He instinctively closed in on her.

“Oh yeah? On what grounds?” She stepped closer. He could smell her perfume.

They were standing a hair’s breadth apart.

“Disturbing the peace.”

“Whose?!”

“Mine,” Jughead smirked. Betty swatted him on the chest, and he caught her hand before she could move away.

There was a shift in the air between them. Suddenly everything felt more charged. Her hand was small and warm. _Soft_.

“I hope you read me my rights first.” Betty said.

“Well, you have the right to remain silent, but I wouldn’t want you to,” he said. “And anyway, I don’t think you would.”

Whatever Betty was about to say was cut short by a barista calling out their names from behind the counter. She waved, signaling that their coffee was ready. The outside world came rushing back to them.

Jughead dropped Betty’s hand and she told him to stay put while she went to retrieve their order.

He took the opportunity to center himself. He felt much younger than his twenty-seven years around Betty. It was a total head rush. _In more ways than one_.

She came back shortly after and handed him his cup.

“One date to meet the family. Would you really say no to free food?”

Trepidation must have shown on his face, for she quickly added, “My dad grills some amazing burgers. They’re famous in the neighborhood. Plus all the potato salad you can eat.”

“Ah, what the hell. Why not? I’m sure I can survive your mother.”

Betty chuckled. “I’ll protect you, Jug.” She glanced at the large clock above the door. “Shoot, I have to go, I’m really late. I’ll see you Saturday!”

She brushed past him and Jughead had to resist the inexplicable urge to follow.

“Oh hey, Betty, wait!”

She turned back. “Yes?”

“You never gave me your number.”

Betty’s eyes dropped meaningfully to the coffee cup he was holding.

“One step ahead of you, Detective Jones.”

With a self-satisfied smirk and a wink she pushed the door open and stepped out into the busy street.

Jughead watched her disappear from view. He looked down at his styrofoam cup and turned it around until he found it, written on the side in careful, loopy cursive:

“_Betty 619-979-1719 x_”


	3. Chapter 3

_Five Years Later…_

It was a mint tea kind of morning. Betty had been feeling queasy since her alarm clock rung at 6 o’clock that morning, a shrill beeping sound that echoed inside her head until she plucked up the energy to shut it off.

There were only a few people inside the coffee shop, all of whom were regulars Betty recognized. She waved at a young mother with a toddler on her hip.

The bell above the door rang as another customer walked in. Betty made her way over to the cake display, perusing the rows of plump, fragrant muffins and thick cake slices. Nothing looked too appetizing, but neither was the idea of skipping breakfast. A scone seemed harmless enough. She helped herself to a paper bag, popped a couple inside and joined the line to pay.

Behind her, someone cleared their throat. “_Excuse me_.”

Betty turned and found Jughead Jones grinning down at her. _Oh. It’s you._ Her lips automatically quirked into a smile.

“Yes?”

“This is going to sound weird, but I have a favor to ask,” he said. She was well accustomed to his teasing tone. The crooked smile was enough to tell her that whatever game he was playing, he fully expected her to play along.  
  
“And what’s that, detective?”

He inched closer to her, the tips of his fingers resting on the curve of her waist.

“Hold my hand and I’ll buy you a coffee?”

His words brought about a rush of nostalgia. All of a sudden, she felt five years younger. Something about him — the instant familiarity of his smile; the ease with which he carried himself; the way a look from him was enough to unravel her — made it very hard to resist the pull she felt every time he was around. So don’t resist.

She had never regretted listening to that particular voice.

Betty smiled fondly up at him. “Sadly, I don’t think my husband would approve.”

Jughead’s smile twisted into a frown. “So you’re taken?”

Betty nodded.

“Hmm. Lucky fellow.” Instead of pulling back, his fingers traced circles around Betty’s wrists. “But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you helping a stranger in need, Mrs…?”

“Jones,” she answered. “Betty.”

“Jones Betty,” he drawled, eyes falling to her lips. “What a lovely name.”

Betty snorted.

“Hello, husband.”

Jughead interlaced their fingers, pulling her into his arms.

“Hello, wife.”

He bent down to kiss her, soft and slow, his thumbs caressing her cheeks. Betty smiled against his lips.

“You’re such a dork.”

Jughead chuckled and pressed a kiss against the corner of her lips before pulling away. A stray curl had escaped from under his ratty old beanie, the one he only ever wore when the weather was particularly nasty; the one Betty had staked claim to early in their relationship, saying, it looks better on me, anyway, Juggie.

“What can I say, you bring out the best in me.”

Betty made a show of rolling her eyes and turned away before he got a good look at her indulgent smile. She looked down at their joined hands.

“I can’t believe I fell for your tricks twice.”

“I can’t either. You’re usually a pretty smart girl.”

“I know,” Betty said. “That’s why I married you.”

———


End file.
